


Seams

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Psychotic break, Surrealism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 21:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20228920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: At last Tenkai finds his permanence, his everlasting use.  You cannot wear down what cannot be broken.





	Seams

It was with the most desperate of last hopes that Tenkai begged his elevated Lord to join him again at last and he was elated, he was terrified when he was granted. The sword thrust through his ribs had been welcome, the clawed hands that reached out and collected him were so gently cruel. Tenkai could not see any longer. He did not know what day it was or what time it was or how long he had been here, all that mattered was that he was allowed to remain.

Anything. Anything to remain here in this anachronistic pocket, kept by his Lord as proof that such a human being could ascend. Had he been blindfolded no no he couldn’t have his Lord knew that he would not see again without permission even with both eyes intact. Of course he would follow his orders, loyal vassal that he was. Acknowledge me, Nobunaga-kou? As his reward he tears Tenkai apart a little more every day, at the skin at the soul sometimes both. It’s the best when it’s both. He nearly forgets his name, the one that he had before and the one that he had snatched up from the ground at a moment’s notice.

He does not see he hears only what he is permitted to hear. Feel only what is allotted, which happens to be Nobunaga-kou’s claws, buried inches deep in skin. How much blood has been shed, he didn’t know he was supposed to be keeping count. Perhaps have another of your household do so, Nobunaga-kou. Tenkai, grasping for the oceans beyond the heavens, discovers that it does not smell like salty spray but like ash and soot and blood and the oil that Nobunaga-kou sometimes would massage over his wounds. Prevents infection, or something like that. It had been western and still smelled foreign even after all this time (however much time this had been). Tenkai did not mind. 

His movements are Tenkai’s heartbeats, as if the minute that he stops moving once and for all, his loyal, holy worshipper will fall right along with him. It is the most deeply piercing pleasure that Tenkai has ever felt and if he was to be trapped in a single moment for all of eternity, there was no other that he would have chosen. Worn down forever strained and pushed to the very edge, what were limits without time, after all? Nothing mattered he was always with him, _within_ him, claiming his body and when he was not doing so he would claim his mind. Something about being human being loved smiling feeling grief, it was all so distant now. Did it still matter, had he achieved it?

Promise me I’ll never have to think again. Promise me I’ll never have to fear again wonder again be lost again and Nobunaga had given that to him. With sharpened nails he clung to armor, flesh, fabric, sometimes the rough wood of the immaculate throne, hanging on to right now this second this moment for dear life. There was no tomorrow. There was Lord Nobunaga pushing into him (how he welcomed it so) constant like a heartbeat telling him loud and clear. So this was permanence.

What was that young man’s name, the one who loved his soup so much – so this was what it felt like to be remembered to never fade.

Tenkai embraced it, pressed his head into Nobunaga’s shoulder, and clung to his Lord as he proved himself worthy again.


End file.
